Threnody
by Ersatz.Love
Summary: Spontaneous Demyx drabble. His arms were burning, his fingers cramping, and the leather at his fingertips had worn straight through, blood coating the strings of his sitar as he slid across the frets. Come on, Roxas -- don't you remember?


_Your weapon goes first. Don't forget that._

Everything hurt.

Everything was just a blur of pain, of adrenaline, of shouting and movement, of cracks of lightning and bolts of fire and the ever-present roar of rushing water. Underneath it all was the mostly-steady melody of his sitar, setting the battle to 4/4 time; his clones spun and whipped and leaped in response to every note, their amorphous bodies breaking and reforming constantly as magic and metal sought to destroy them. Whenever one burst, three more would rise from the puddle of its remains, moving and thrashing and dancing around the Keybearer before getting obliterated once more.

_How long, _Demyx thought, unsure if he was asking Roxas or himself, _are you going to keep this up?  
_  
No melody lasts forever. Despite his best efforts, the Melodious Nocturne found it increasingly more difficult to keep the flow; several sympathetic strings had broken, which upset the sitar's resonance more than its ability to be played, but the seven that _were_ played were losing their tuning, throwing off his groove. Worse, with all the chaos going on around him, he could hardly even hear his own song...

Dancers cannot dance without a steady rhythm.

Every falter in the beat, every missed note, every broken string spelled death for one of his clones, and brought him closer to oblivion as well -- yet he played on. His arms were burning, his fingers cramping, and the leather at his fingertips had worn straight through, blood coating the strings of his sitar as he slid across the frets.

_Come on, Roxas -- don't you remember?_

Lightning struck the water-slick battlefield again, stunning the sitarist into silence as buzzing pain erupted through his limbs. His clones pooled around him, formless without his melody to guide them; chest heaving for a breath that just wouldn't come, he struck another chord, but the major he'd intended came out as diminished -- yet he played on. The water swelled and surged at his command, building pressure in what was going to be another torrent by the next refrain -- he played faster, willing his fingers to move despite the pain, and glanced up to find his target--

"Roxas--"

The keyblade found him first.

Searing agony exploded in his side, sending him down on one knee. White stars invaded his vision, which flickered and darkened in waves as he watched crimson tendrils seep from his fingertips and swirl into the water. Blinking hard, he loosened his grip on the sitar's neck, rigid hand only barely responding to his command. Everything seemed to end just then; his body wanted nothing more than to just collapse right then and there, to give in to fatigue, close his eyes, surrender...

He was already on one knee. It would be so easy to drop the other one, beg for mercy...

_No. I can't._ He shook his head both out of defiance and an attempt to clear his vision, taking a breath to will the pain away. _I won't give up. Not for you, Roxas._

It was funny, actually -- the pain seemed so distant now. He felt...light, like his body was made of...

...nothing.

The faintest sense of urgency crossed his mind, and he staggered to his feet, wobbling as his legs rebelled against the rest of him. He felt weak. The water sloshed around his boots lifelessly, and for the first time since he could remember, he couldn't hear its voice -- couldn't feel it responding to his presence. No rhythm, no pulse. _Need to keep playing._ He didn't feel any pain now -- _maybe I'm catching my second wind. I can do this. I can keep fighting._ Stretching his overworked fingers for a moment, he rose to his full height, hand again closing around the neck of his sitar--

...which...wasn't...there.  
_  
Your weapon goes first._

Blue eyes widened in realization. He brought his hand up, unclenching his fingers; there was nothing, not even a single drop of water, and no, no, no, _no, no, no, __**no,**_ it wasn't supposed to be like this -- nothing was responding -- his sitar was _gone,_ and that meant--

_**"No way--!"**_

This wasn't supposed to happen.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It was supposed to be a happy ending. All he wanted was...

...to drop to his knees, to give in, to surrender to the inevitable _-- no, no, no, no, __**no**__--_

He grasped at his hair in frustration, and he couldn't _feel_ it -- he was alive a minute ago, the pain told him he was alive -- the heat of battle, the freezing numbness of fatigue, the sound of his music--

...all gone.

Demyx couldn't even hear his own scream.

_Roxas..._

He slumped forwards, hands dropping to his sides, head lowered in defeat. In the corners of his vision he could see shreds of darkness flowing out of him, rising into the air like steam, evaporating. The water around him rose with it in something like a reverse rain, returning to the sky, but where would he..?

_I did it for you._


End file.
